Katerina

25

THE DAYS ADVANCED HEAVILY, as though they were tethered to a sluggish locomotive. The winter was long and its darkness was great, and the summer was hardly felt. One day was like the other; there was no end to the days. Nevertheless, year pursued year. A person no longer sought closeness to anyone. Almost nobody talked to me. A murderess is a murderess, I heard more than once. I didn’t answer, and I didn’t insult. I was attached to my secret by an umbilical cord, and from there I drew patience. I had a family hidden from all eyes. Now my lawyer had joined it. For months, he didn’t come to visit me.

Sometimes I saw him in the image of John the Baptist, standing by the waters of the Prut and pouring water on people’s heads. That task doesn’t suit you, I remarked to him. And what task does suit me? he asked without turning his head. You’re the court-appointed lawyer for the poor and the downcast; they are certainly waiting for you. You’re right, my dear, you’re absolutely right. But you mustn’t forget that a year ago I was dismissed from my job. But if my new task doesn’t please you, I shall return to my old one. I hope they won’t kill me. If you’re afraid, don’t go there, I was about to tell him, but I didn’t have the chance. He disappeared from before my eyes. I didn’t understand the meaning of that dream. I missed him and his cringing movements, and every month I expected him.

Outside, they had begun looting Jewish shops once again, and no small amount of the booty continued to arrive. One of Sigi’s aunts brought her a poplin blouse. I saw immediately that it was a Jewish blouse. Sigi wore it, and her mood improved. It was very hard for me to bear the way she looked in that blouse, but I restrained myself and didn’t say a thing. But one evening I couldn’t control myself and I said to her, “That blouse doesn’t suit you.”

“Why?”

“Because it belongs to the Jews.”

“So what?”

“You mustn’t wear the clothing of tortured people.”

“Jews don’t scare me.”

My hands shook. I was alarmed by the tremor, because I felt that it was a violent one, that I didn’t have the power to subdue it. Sigi apparently felt that she’d gone too far and said, “Why get angry for nothing?” Later, she said, as though by the way, “I see you still love Jews.”

“I don’t understand.” I feigned innocence.

“I have a strong aversion to the Jews. The Jews, to tell the truth, never cheated me or bothered me, but I still feel no pity for them. Once, I even had a Jewish lover, unquestionably a sweet young man. We used to go out on walks, to the movies, and cafés. I knew I’d never again know love like that, but I still wasn’t at ease. The Jews make my heart restless. I feel guilty. Maybe you can explain that to me. The Jews drive me out of my mind.”

I looked at her and I saw she was telling the truth. Anyway, there was no malice, just a desire to solve a difficult riddle. “Strange,” she said. “At night I’m not angry either at myself or at my mother, not even at my husband, who abused me. I get angry at the Jews. They drive me out of my mind. Do you understand?”

“But they didn’t hit you.”

“Correct, you’re absolutely right. But what can I do? It’s a fact: Everybody hates them.”

To be at peace with myself, I told Sigi, “Don’t speak ill of the Jews. That kind of talk drives me mad. It’s hard for me to control myself.”

“Would you hit me?” She was alarmed.

“Not I,” I said as though to myself, “but my hands.”

“Ignore me.”

“The poplin blouse you’re wearing makes me crazy.”

“For your sake, I won’t wear it.”

“Thank you very much.”

The days raked us into their flow like beasts. We worked. With our last strength we dislodged beets from the frozen soil. The head jailer used to beat the weak women mercilessly. The screams would shatter our ears, but our hearts knew no pity. From month to month my heart grew harder. My life was nothing but movements, and at night I would sink down on my cot like all the rest and fall asleep. Fatigue was so powerful that it conquered me completely. My contact with other worlds was limited and rare. Only occasionally would I clench my fists and sense my strength, but very quickly they relaxed.

In my heart I secretly envied all the women who sat and chatted at night, quarreling and cursing. I had no words, as though they had withered within me. Even the simple numbers scrawled on the wall made me dizzy. Were it not for the work, were it not for that curse, I would have been buried in sleep.

One evening, after the lineup, Sigi approached me and said, “Katerina, permit me to say a word to you. Don’t get angry at me and don’t hit me.”

“Don’t say it to me.” I turned down her request.

“I can’t keep it in. It’s weighing on my heart like a stone.”

“But why do you have to irritate me?” I said, and my hands clenched.

“I have to.”

“You don’t have to. You can control your mouth.”

Hearing my words, she lowered her head and burst into tears. “Do what you want. Hit me as much as you want to. Your attitude toward the Jews frightens me more than the prison, more than the jailer, more than solitary confinement.”

“Shut up!” I cried to her.

But she didn’t keep quiet, and it was clear to me that she was prepared to die beneath my fists. Yet she would not conceal her truth from me. Her weeping rose, and as it rose, my hands weakened.